Why I went to sing alone - Alo Japan All About Japan

September 17, 2025 — 5:00am

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Exploring Tokyo can sometimes feel like a musical, with pleasant, inoffensive melodies chiming throughout the luminous capital. Its soundtrack is a mix of train station jingles, larger-than-life adverts, traffic signals mimicking children’s toys, and birdsong – perhaps making up for the lack of actual birds.

But nowhere is Japan’s obsession with music more evident than its infatuation with karaoke.

Shinjuku’s Golden Gai, where more than 200 small bars are crammed together.Alamy

Japan is the world’s leading stage for cover songs, for better and for worse. The late Shigeichi Negishi invented the karaoke machine in 1967; its name fuses two words meaning “empty orchestra”. It quickly became a hit in small bars and homes across Japan before the world caught on. Today, the social game-changer is one of Japan’s most cherished exports.

Travelling solo will not stop me from experiencing the popular Japanese pastime of bravely crooning among old friends – or, in my case, new friends. I head to Shinjuku’s Golden Gai area to expose myself to hardworking sound systems and microphones. Under the shadow of skyscrapers, the eclectic nightlife area contrasts with the rest of the district. Its handful of narrow streets is home to more than 200 dive bars slotted together like Lego blocks.

I snake through the short streets as if it’s an amusement park. I find a lively karaoke session, but the bar is full, barely fitting a dozen people inside. Thankfully, a singer retires and signals they’re leaving. I swiftly take their warm stool and immediately feel like part of the gang. We are tightly crammed shoulder to shoulder around the L-shaped counter, the karaoke master doubling as the barman, ready to press play and serve confidence boosters in liquid form.

Karaoke bars throughout Japan vary with cover charges; this small bar charges ¥1000 ($A10), which includes selecting 10 songs to channel your inner pop star. Or, let’s be honest, butcher songs. Eighties classic Karma Chameleon by Culture Club starts playing, and no matter who is holding the mic, we all sing with the chorus. The vocal onslaught continues with John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads and Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way, common karaoke offenders. Many here are clenching fists, shaking shoulders, and half-raised off stools, singing along. I leave an hour later, my vocal cords well worn and content with my dopamine hit.

Bill Murray belts out a tune with Scarlett Johansson at a Tokyo karaoke room in Lost In Translation.Alamy

I want to experience more of Japan’s karaoke scene and take the plunge to go solo at Shibuya’s Karaoke Rainbow. The eighth-floor polished karaoke venue offers an elevated experience, its hallways inspired by the streets of Brooklyn: private karaoke booths are its only industry. I book a room for an hour. As I am alone, I don’t feel pressure to loosen up with a drink, calming my nerves to “perform” to a live audience. Yet, I order a vodka and soda nevertheless.

My room is tiny, barely the size of a single bedroom. It features a flat TV screen mounted on a wall, a coffee table, and a two-seater couch. Still, my stage resonates. My younger self enthusiastically sang into an Impulse deodorant can in similar-sized confines. Now, I’m holding an actual mic in a soundproof room. No room for embarrassment, no room to offend.

I start with my usual karaoke go-to: Cher’s Believe. Usually, I grunt my words, mimicking the music legend to the amusement of others. But I realise I’m not putting on a show; this is my time to lean into long-held fantasies and lose inner ambitions to become a bona fide pop star. Whether I sound good, half decent, or plain awful, it doesn’t matter – no one will know.

I start selecting songs I love but are challenging to execute. While I am no Mariah, who can belt out high octaves on a whim, I’m having fun attempting my “best voice”. My throat is feeling vibrations like never before. I sing Muse, Pearl Jam, Kylie Minogue, and even Taylor Swift to mix things up. I’m enjoying my own company, and I extend the room hire for another hour. I don’t need more drinks; I need more songs.